


exquisite agony

by Wallissa



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: ?!, Cannibalism, Dirty Talk, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Gore, One Shot, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Romance, fluffy gore mention, grotesque flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 19:44:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20822795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallissa/pseuds/Wallissa
Summary: Over dessert, Hannibal and Will indulge in some sweet talk.Under a layer of raspberry-sweetness, one will find glinting steel and all-consuming darkness, but underneath that void, a deeper, burning tenderness is hidden away, visible only to a very select few. (Alright, just one person. Will has the sharpest eyes, after all)(A mix of salt, heat, splintering bones, a little taste of the grotesque.)Written for the HannibalGoreFest 2019





	exquisite agony

**Author's Note:**

> For ages I've wanted to write something to the tune of the [Masochism Tango](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TytGOeiW0aE) by Tom Lehrer and this seemed like the appropriate time to do so? It kinda developed differently from what I thought and it's not terribly gory, I fear.  
This was all very spontaneous.
> 
> Also PLEASE be warned that Nabokov's Lolita is mentioned. However, there is absolutely no romanticisation of that terrible story happening here.  
(it's p telling that the story is more deserving of a Lolita-mention warning than a gore warning...but I tried my best)

Hannibal returns with an unopened bottle of wine and a fruit arrangement. “Fresh plums and a compote of blackberries and raspberries, sweetened with a touch of wild honey.”

“Thank you,” Will says, and “I can see that.”

In the dim light of their dining room, the scent of honey mingles with the wine, the roses. Sweetness, velvet, golden forests, while the early autumn mist of Whitstable presses against the other side of the window. White noise, swallowing up the world around them. Intimate.

Wine on his lips, Hannibal’s eyes on his mouth. If he wanted to, Will could guess the thoughts behind those lashes, the glistening white of his eyes. It’s probably something akin to the scrape of a bow on a cello, slow, vibrant and comically ominous. 

Instead of indulging Hannibal – since he himself honestly couldn’t care less-, he picks up his fork and watches Hannibal do the same. “A very visually appealing arrangement.” Between them, on a silver plate, a fairy ring of plums, dark as bruises, and inside a heap of warm compote. Glistening red, pulsating in the flickering candlelight, soft when Will sinks his fork into it. 

“Thank you. I hope you’ll enjoy this particular recipe.” A flash of silver, steel between the soft pink of Hannibal’s lips. A glimpse of the red-hot inside of his mouth.

Warm, sweet, soft. Will feels the raspberry seeds against his teeth and swallows, Hannibal’s eyes on his throat. “Do I taste a hint of salt?”

A smile, the glint of Hannibal’s knife in the candlelight. “I allowed myself some liberties with the sauce.” His little lisp, dripping in delight. They have to lean over the table a little to make sure they don’t spill red on the tablecloth. Sharing a plate of glistening red like an ice cream sundae.

“Very original,” Will allows as he sips his wine. “As expected.”

“Oh?” Hannibal’s honey-glazed pupils flicker, shadows sharpening his cheekbones. “I hope I’m not becoming too predictable, Love.” His fork sinks into dripping red.

The hint of a smile in the corner of Will’s mouth. “I wouldn’t say that just yet. It’s more of a matter of familiarising myself with your taste.” Warm salt on his tongue, washing away the memories of dinner. Oysters, potatoes. Meat. “Should I be worried about teeth?”

“In a compote?” Hannibal raises a brow at him, amused. “I’m not that reckless a cook.” Red dripping sluggishly from his fork. “And I wouldn’t break your teeth like that.”

Now it’s Will’s turn to be amused. “Break my teeth?” He reaches for the plums, honey dripping from his fingers. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh?” Hannibal’s eyes flicker. Up to meet Will’s gaze, down to watch his lips part. “I wouldn’t?”

The plum is sticky, honey that tastes like the golden forest in Autumn. Familiar. Will sinks his teeth into smooth skin, feels it split. Wet-sweet.  
His teeth scrape over the seed, he pulls back to spit it into his palm. It clatters when he drops it on his plate and he meets Hannibal’s eyes again.

“No. Not my teeth.” A pause, he slips the other half of the plum into his mouth. Chews, swallows. Eyes on his throat. “But I’d break yours.”

A soft hum, Hannibal takes a sip of wine. When he speaks up again, his teeth are stained red. “Would you?” Contemplative, curious, but his voice tinted just so, just enough for Will to notice. “You’d hurt yourself.”

Will licks honey off his knuckles. “I would. You have the mouth of a beast.”

There’s a pause. At this point, Will could just finish dessert in peace, but Hannibal’s gaze is sharp-sweet on him as he pushes his fork into the dripping warmth. Raspberries part under steel, pliant and tender. “What?”

“I’m sorry?” Honey-eyes back on his face, his mouth. It’s not terribly subtle.

“What do you want?” Will licks his lips, catches a sweet drop of red in the corner of his lips.

“Oh, I thought you were about to add something else.” Stubborn. Rudely polite.

Will shakes his head, biting back his smile. “No, I was finished.”

“Oh.” Hannibal sips his wine, eyes distant. For such an intelligent man, he’s terribly easy. 

Blackberries melt on Will’s tongue. He waits. A bite, then two.

“Have you read Nabokov?”

Sun drenched afternoons. Fluttering butterflies, girls with peach-limbs, rough hands. Delicate beauty, pinned, torn. “Yes.”

Hannibal nods, pierces a plum with his fork. A flash of his knife, then he lifts a dripping piece to his lips. An intake of breath, but he closes his teeth around pale flesh before saying what he has in mind.

Will waits, thinks of butterflies, torn wings. Smudged lipstick, scratched shoulder blades.

“Maybe you recall the scene in Lolita-“ Hannibal takes a sip of wine, stalling. ”A lash fell into her eye.”

Will nods, hums. Rough hands on a tear-hot cheek, quivering limbs, held in place. Buttercream-covered violence.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before.“ Hannibal gives him a look, almost accusing. Memories of steel bars between them. “At least not genuine tears. But I’ve always imagined it would be a nice way to soothe you.”

A hot, wet tongue on the delicate surface of an eyeball, salty, overflowing. Will looks at Hannibal’s hands, slender, elegant. He recalls the many times he shook to pieces for him, because of him, and remembers the warmth of these hands. Strong, reassuring on his shoulder, his forehead, his wrists. 

He also knows their strength, remembers seeing it, feeling it. Now, since he was asked so nicely, he considers a warm hand on his jaw, forcing it up, glittering teeth, a hot, _hot_ tongue. Quivering limbs, gently forced into stillness. Hannibal’s teeth sink into another piece of plum. 

Will’s lips twitch. “I think that may have the opposite of the desired effect.”

“Oh?” Pale flesh parting under a glinting blade. “What is the opposite of calming, then?”

Instead of answering, Will sucks a drop of honey from his thumb and lets the silence warm between them. Sweetness, hollowed cheeks. Hands in his hair, on his jaw. A gentle tongue on his wet cheek, his lashes, a flash of red-white teeth. 

There’s a flutter in Hannibal’s lashes, a word on his tongue, but he looks at his plate instead, hiding his canines. Salt, dripping down Will’s chin.

“Would you eat my eyes?”

Honey glints in the darkness. “What do you think, love?”

At that, Will almost laughs, shakes his head. “I don’t want to answer my own question.”

A raised brow. “You didn’t answer mine.” It’s that same voice, calm, tempting. Glass tables and black leather, the perfume of past games.

“And how did that make you feel?” Will only barely resists folding his hands, crossing his legs. These days, he doesn’t depend on following rules Hannibal made up for them, and he delights in flipping the board, trying black on for size. Just to see that glint in Hannibal’s eyes, a white pawn between his fingertips.

Hannibal takes his time answering, slipping another forkful of glistening red between his lips. “Teased.” 

Will nods solemnly and picks up his own fork. Glinting, dripping. When he speaks up this time, it’s with his own voice and his eyes don’t leave Hannibal’s face. “The opposite of calming is the delicate, ticklish reminder of steel, silver-pink, twelve stitches.” 

Fluttering lashes, gilded by candlelight. There’s a sigh trembling on the tip of Hannibal’s tongue, but he swallows is down with a sip of wine.

Will knows it wasn’t playful then. It was betrayal and revenge, hurt pride. But these days, Hannibal’s fingertips always find the scar when he wraps his arm around him, delicate and full of wonder. Even now, his hands tremble in delight at the memory that Will always carries a token of his affection. “I’d eat your eyes.” His voice, soft-hot, licks a shiver down Will’s spine.

White-knuckled grip on the silverware, flickering steel, sunk into writhing-wet sweetness. Will’s voice softens, uncalled for. “The opposite of calming is roses in your mouth.” He licks juice from his lower lip, watches as Hannibal slows, stops cutting his plum to pieces, looks up with honey-dripping eyes. “Petals crushed between your teeth, one sticking to your split, salty-wet lip and thorns sunk into your gums.”

Hannibal sets down his knife and fork. His eyes shimmer and in the dim light, his flush would hardly be noticeable, but Will has sharp eyes. His accent deepens, crushed velvet, rough on his tongue. “I would hook my fingers into your ribcage and pull it open until-“

“You’d break me.”

“Only to free your heart. Only to feel it warm and sweet against my palm.” The promise is warm and earnest, ringing with blood-drenched honesty.

Will takes a sip of his wine, velvet bleeding into the black sweetness of the compote. “Would I get your heart in return?” Wet, glistening, pulsing in his grip.

“I’d give you everything you ask for.” The dryness of Hannibal’s words and the way his knife clatters against his plate when he needlessly cuts into the writhing heat of his compote prove to Will that oh, he has it already. Warm, fluttering.

“If I asked to burn you?” He can’t help the smile that seeps into his voice, the giddy delight. “Not your mind, not your brain. Your skin. A smouldering kiss to your shoulder.”

Hannibal’s lips twitch as well, ever so slightly. His smile wine-red. “You can burn me, Love. My thoughts, my skin.”

“And your silk?”

This time, Hannibal hesitates. Knife sunk into splatters of red. “Yes.”

Will planned on teasing him, telling him about silken shadows and bespoke silhouettes, smouldering, bursting at the seams, flames licking and devouring fabric, leather. But the permission melts the teasing words out of his mouth. The silk Hannibal wraps his claws in, the silk he uses to forge a person out of darkness. “You’d let me burn your suits?”

Hannibal looks at him, his eyes ablaze. There’s heat to him, darkness, something horrific, drenched in the honey of his eyes. No silk between them, not anymore. Claws and canines. “I can build myself on ashes. _We_ can. We have.”

Will nods, his heart beating against the cage of his ribs. White bones, splintering, breaking. In his palm, the answering flutter of Hannibal’s heart. Soft, hot, dripping blood on a white tablecloth. “We have.”

Moon glinting on silver, splattered in red, sweet guts, drizzled in honey. Will sets his fork down and rises.

Every step is like walking through water. The sea cold and foaming, licking, sucking at his limbs, black, blood-red. His hand finds Hannibal, a warm shoulder in darkness, bones, skin, silk, scars, teeth.

Hannibal waits for him, fingertips on the handle of his knife, honey-gaze dripping down his face. When he moves as well, almost a shadow, the memory of darkness flickers through Will’s mind, antlers, water, steel bars. But when he reaches out, his hand finds warmth wrapped in silk.

A hand on his jaw, forcing it up, glittering teeth, a hot, _hot_ tongue. Will lets his mouth fall open, tastes the heat, salt, blackberry sweetness of Hannibal. He reaches for him, pulls. Silk and cotton, butterfly wings, the intake of breath against his mouth when fabric gives, rips. Skin, warm as darkness.

And Hannibal’s hand at his belt, elegant claws, cleverly undoing buttons, grotesquely polite. Will trembles when soft fingers find the ticklish-sweet line, the silver signature Hannibal left on him, his love letter.

A pulsing heart in the palm of his hand and salt on his lips, Will pulls back, catches Hannibal’s gaze. Ripped silk, a tender, soft-skinned beast. Glistening, salty red, pulsing sweetly. 

When they finally sink into cotton, they sink into each other. Splintering bones, claws like slivers of moonlight, sharp teeth. Tongues, hot like guts, sweet like roses. Like two monsters, clawing, tearing, sinking into each other, into flesh and mind and dark matter, heart to heart, dripping in blackberry juice, inseparable.

The fog wraps their bedroom into a soft void and when they kiss, they leave bruises, sweet and purple like plums.

**Author's Note:**

> For once, I have very little to say.  
I've read Lolita ages ago and the part where he licks a lash out of her eye stuck with me, I don't know. It seemed an appropriate moment to bring it up.
> 
> Regarding the fire - considering Hannibal saw his mother burn and got a big whooping trauma out of that in the books, him allowing Will to set him ablaze is a huge deal as well. But Will doesn’t know that, I suppose.
> 
> All in all, this was really fun to write, but as you may have noticed I'm terribly self-conscious about the amount of gore. If you have any kind of feedback regarding that, please don't hesitate to tell me. I really enjoy suggestion, but this time it just felt so. Mild.
> 
> As always, you can find a [post](https://typinggently.tumblr.com/post/188032461190/typinggently-exquisite-agony-by-wallissa) for this fic on my [ writing tumblr](https://typinggently.tumblr.com/) (where you can also find all kinds of ramblings) and, for once, on my twitter(@typinggently) as well (where you can find exactly one kind of rambling, and that is hannigram-related rambling).   
(Fun fact regarding the moodboard: it originally had completely different pics for the two of them, but then they didn’t even hurt each other in this so Hannibal looking all beat up and cheerful about it wasn’t appropriate. Now it’s just them looking like two smug bastard, which is more fitting.)
> 
> Again - Thank you very much for reading and if you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a heart or even a comment! It really makes my day  
Have a wonderful day x


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